When A Man Goes Home

I read that Ian Hargreaves has left his job as editor of the New Statesman in order to spend more time with his family.

Or as we say in the office, smtwhf.

In a lengthy article in the Guardian the other day, Ian explained his reasons for stepping down - remorseless ongoing cycle of magazine production, wish for change, new baby to look after, wife's full-time career to consider, etc.

Nothing new there. Some day we may hear of a frustrated medium-achieving man leaving his humdrum company job in order to step up to more demanding/ rewarding level of family work, childminding and house maintenance, but not yet. Or we will read of a high-powered house-husband deciding to forsake the remorseless ongoing family grind and spend more time with his company. But not yet. The traffic so far is one-way, the travellers top-notch, the preferred vehicle a people-wagon, and no change imminent.

So why did we need such a lengthy explanatory piece from Ian? "Perhaps I'm just trying to cover my embarrassment at being accused of slipstreaming the Zeitgeist of gender politics."

Well, if you're going to be accused, you might as well be properly accused. And I don't know what to make of the fact that Ian has a daughter called Zola.

Anyway, since leaving his job, Ian is revelling in being busier than ever, what with articles, interviews, child-minding, cooking, cleaning, residents' committees and the chairing of political conferences: all the usual housewifey things. Ironing not mentioned, but implied. Moreover, he will take up a university professorship of journalism in Cardiff in October. How the house-husbandry will pan out then is not clear.

This is what happens when A Man Goes Home: he finds how full a woman's life is.

Four years ago, Ian was, briefly, editor of the Independent. It must have there he first began to think about "slipstreaming the Zeitgeist of gender politics" and decided to try out the idea on some of his staff. So on his first day as editor, he sent a number of journalists off to spend more time with their families. Permanently, with their P45s.

The feedback must have been excellent for Ian to effectively sack himself from the New Statesman four years later.

So what does the man really want (you will be asking)? Well, Ian's university role will apparently offer a change of slant on "the only job I ever wanted to do: to figure out what's going on."

This man is in charge of two small children.

Right. Amused at people's reaction to his career decision, Ian also notes drolly how people wrote to him when he was appointed to various positions of apparent power, e.g: "I cannot think of anyone more likely to make a brilliant success of the (insert name of employing organisation) than you. A truly inspiring appointment. I will phone your assistant next week to see if we can find a date for lunch." This was the nature of hundreds of letters Ian received at each of his major career advances - "so predictable that I began to think there must be a text-book in use at the more accomplished schools."

There is indeed. I ought to know, having written it. And I am disappointed that so many of those people who wrote to Ian chose the same standard letter of ingratiation - beg pardon, congratulation, when my textbook offers a comprehensive selection, and also stresses the need to add an individual touch.

I am even more disappointed that so few people have apparently written to Ian in response to his decision to smtwhf. Naturally this is a more challenging literary form, but my textbook is not short of examples. Herewith is one, in the amusing tone so favoured by Ian.

Dear Joe, I was interested to discover that you are leaving your coveted job next week to spend more time with your family. You did check with the family first of course? No? Busy busy busy!

Well Joe, old pal, I am sorry to inform you that you are too late. Remember the three 18-hour days you put in last week? That was when Harriet (your wife, remember?) and myself, with the full agreement of your two teenage children (Hank and Anna-Lisa, remember?) decided we would all move to my house. That's right. I am going to be spending more time with your family. Sorry and all that, but what can I say? It's the Zeitgeist, I guess. Cheers! Yours,

Harry.